


Laurel Isn’t Always Right

by Solemnly_Swear (Fitzsimmonsx)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, M/M, Roy has a crush, Sometime during season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23205427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzsimmonsx/pseuds/Solemnly_Swear
Summary: Oliver lashes out and Roy understands.
Relationships: Roy Harper/Oliver Queen
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Laurel Isn’t Always Right

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching Arrow and suddenly really shipped Roy and Oliver (plus there really aren’t enough fics of the pairing here on AO3). This happened.

Tonight is one of those nights, when Oliver comes back growling after a lead gets away. The only difference is that this night, Oliver’s not the only angry one. They’re all stressed, burning brighter and brighter until they’re ready to explode, and Oliver is too reckless to look before he sets it all off. 

“Give me another address,” Oliver says. His voice is very even, and that’s how they all know this is the wrong choice. When his voice gets even and cold and calm, that’s when he’s feeling the exact opposite. 

No one says anything. Roy scuffs his shoe on the floor, glancing sideways at where Felicity would be (if she’d been back any time more recent than a few weeks ago). But the chair’s empty, shadowed only by Laurel, who’s hovering at the corner. Roy glances up at Oliver, who’s staring at Digg. 

“An address, Digg,” Oliver says in a low voice. “Now.”

“No,” Digg says. He levels a look right back at Oliver, a “you done yet?” that gets Oliver every time. Sure enough, Oliver steps forward, hand clenched at his side. 

“This one didn’t pan out. The next one will. I’ll make it—“ 

“How’s that, Oliver? How are you gonna do that? I’m not sending you out there like this, and you know it. Walk it off, go punch something. We’ll start again tomorrow.” 

“We’re not done here, Digg,” Oliver says in his warning voice. 

“Yes, we are.” Oliver tries to interject, but Digg cuts him off. “I’m going home to my wife and my kid. You’re going to let this one go.”

Digg’s almost up the stairs when Oliver calls out, “Is that all it takes? A wife and a kid and now you can’t do what needs to be done?”

Digg tenses. Roy swears under his breath. But then Digg is gone, slamming the door behind him, and Oliver sags against the table.

“You done yet?” Laurel actually says, harking back to Digg’s look a few minutes before. “Are you going to push everyone away? Because if that’s the plan, _Ollie_ , let me know when you’re ready to really do something here.” She’s halfway up the stairs, heels clicking, when she turns back and delivers the cinching finish. “You can’t expect us to keep coming back if you’re going to treat us like this, Oliver. We’re our own people, not just part of your crusade. Remember Felicity?  
  
Then she’s up the stairs too, letting the door slam behind her, and Roy knows this one hurts only because Oliver’s jaw clenches slightly at the noise.

“Oliver,” Roy says.

“What?” Oliver snaps, swinging a glare around to Roy as if he’s just slammed a door shut behind him. When Roy doesn’t reply, eyebrows raised, Oliver takes a breath. Lets it out. 

Roy approaches, cautiously, knowing that Oliver can sense every movement, even with his eyes pinned on his green suit and the bow he has clenched in his fist.

Roy sits on the table, at Oliver’s side, and just breathes. 

“You wanna spar?” he says, after a while.

“Yeah,” Oliver says tiredly. “Sure.” He switches his arrows and bow out for a staff in one smooth motion, then looks back at Roy as if wondering what’s taking him so long, and Roy smiles.

“Coming,” he says.

Roy can see the weight finally melting from Oliver’s shoulders as he fights, turning into sweat and physical weariness. When Roy’s had enough, he holds up a hand, gasping, and grabs a water bottle. 

Oliver’s smiling. “No more? You sure? You’re doing good today.”

Roy would soak up the compliment, usually, basking in the glow of Oliver’s smile, but this isn’t usually. He doesn’t smile back, and slowly, Oliver’s grin slips off his face.

“I didn’t mean it,” Oliver says, after a minute or so of silence. “I couldn’t be more proud of Digg. He has a family, he has... he has everything. And he deserves it.” There’s an unspoken  _and I don’t_ that Roy lets pass (although barely).

“Laurel—“

“I know. Laurel was right. I lashed out, I’ll apologize tomorrow.” There’s a defensive edge to his voice that Roy knows too well.

“Laurel isn’t always right.” Now it’s Oliver’s turn to glance at him, raising an eyebrow. Roy has always been under the impression that these are fighting words (questioning Laurel? Unthinkable), but Oliver just glances at him, waiting for him to continue. There’s a warmth in Roy’s chest when he realizes that his words, those of a delinquent off the streets, have enough value in Oliver’s eyes to combat those of Gorgeous Laurel of the D.A.’s office.

“We all lash out. I know that better than anyone,” Roy says, half-bitterly. “But friends are the people that stick around anyways. They have your back.”

Oliver doesn’t say anything, just looks at Roy, thoughtfully. Roy figures that might be why he rushes on, glancing away from Oliver because there’s eye contact, and then there’s eye contact with Oliver, and they’re two  _very_ different beasts. “And it’s not your fault. About Felicity,” he says. “I liked her too— I like her too,” he corrects, seeing Oliver stiffen slightly at the past tense. “But it was her choice. You didn’t force her to leave. She just needed to find her place elsewhere.”

“You think she’ll come back?” Oliver says it casually enough, but Roy knows it’s anything but a casual question.

“Maybe,” Roy says honestly, because Felicity’s new job pays a hell of a lot more, but she’s always had a soft spot for the team, and they all know it.

Oliver stays for a moment, letting his eyes rest on Roy, and then he’s up, moving everything back to its proper place and heading over to change his clothes.

Roy watches him go, frowning. But then Oliver is back, breathing a little harder (not that anyone would notice if they weren’t, well, Roy. Oliver’s insanely fit. It pisses Roy off sometimes.)

“Thank you,” Oliver says hesitantly, putting his hand on Roy’s shoulder. “I appreciate it.” They stand there for a moment, Roy feeling the weight and warmth of Oliver’s hand seep through the lightweight t-shirt, and then Oliver smiles. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Roy echoes. “See you.”

Oliver’s warmth lingers, long after the doors have swung shut, and Roy just stands there.

 _Shit_ ,  he thinks.


End file.
